Parapraxis
by Shipperwolf
Summary: Tony gets an introduction to Freudian psychology. Although Ziva is listed as a main character, be warned that E.J actually has more 'facetime' in the story. Consider it, I suppose, a T/E.J fic that is wishfully, pathetically, pro-TIVA.


Hey all! I'm certain stories like this have been done before-but it hit me and clawed away at my brain like an inside dog who needs to go out to tinkle-and I had to let it out.

Please keep in mind that although E.J is the main female in this story, I am, truly, not a fan of the woman. I actually don't care much for her. I want her to go back to Spain.

I am quite the TIVA fan, but I also like testing myself by writing things like this.

Please enjoy, and know assuredly that I Disclaim NCIS and its characters!

* * *

><p>It was just a slip of the tongue.<p>

It just had to be.

Everything had been wonderful up until this point.

He had been in an uncharacteristically gentlemanly mood, and taken E.J out to a nice (well…decent was more the word) dinner. He'd let her get the most expensive damned steak on the menu.

He'd watched her down a few glasses of wine, and his eye had twitched just a bit when she licked a stray drop from her bottom lip.

He'd heaved a sigh of relief when she had turned down dessert in favor of "getting back to your place" instead. Her slow wink made his gut boil.

Twenty-five minutes ago he'd thrown her across his bed. Her dress was around her ankles, her ass was in the air and Anthony DiNozzo was playing cowboy.

He was particularly impatient tonight; his norm routine of charm and foreplay took a backseat to raw want and pooling heat and He Needed to Fuck Her. Now.

A few good thrusts into the warmth that was this snarky independent blonde and Tony's logical mind disintegrated and formed an imaginary puddle of goop where solid gray matter should have been.

Her hands were balled into his comforter, her hair flowed across her back and her ass—damn it to hell it was hot—was warm and perfect in his hands. He bit his own lip and dug his nails into the meat just to hear her moan. He pushed and pulled in and out of her, slow and then fast and listened with curiosity and pride at her groans and mewls and it was fan-fucking-tastic.

The wet, sharp sound of their bodies slapping against each other filled his ears and he swore his eyes blurred and had to have dilated because for some strange reason he felt like such a fucking _animal_ tonight.

It was good—so very very good—and he was so close now, E.J was tight as hell around him and her moans had turned into shouts and obscenities and he suddenly felt the need to open his own mouth and-

"Fuck, Ziva!"

That was NOT E.J's name.

That was not what he had meant to say.

Had he just shouted it?

Everything stopped.

Blond hair snapped back when a head turned to look blazingly back at him.

It was a good thing he'd had his orgasm, because she pulled off of him faster than he could comprehend and was now, very quickly, placing her dress straps back on her shoulders.

A strange combination of anger and amusement filled her face.

He realized he had not moved since he heard himself shout Ziva David's name during climax.

He started forward just in time to see her turn and stride out of his bedroom.

His door shut—too quietly, he thought—as she left without a word.

Tony was left alone, in his bedroom doorway, naked, wondering why, when everything had been so damned, damned, damned perfect…..

Why had he said—shouted—screamed his partner's name during sex?

Why had his girlfriend not slapped him for doing so?

Did she get something he didn't?

He wondered if he should call her. And decided she would most assuredly not answer.

So standing alone, naked in his apartment, Tony did the only thing that came to mind.

He picked up his cell phone, hit one button, and listened with a sickening sense of apprehension as the ringing began. He swallowed when a click sounded her answer.

"Tony?"

"Hey, Ziva. I need a drink. And company."

* * *

><p>I am a psyche major, and have a strange affinity for Freudian psychology. I do not always agree with Mr. Sigmund, though.<p>

Anyway, a Parapraxis is a slip of the tongue-which Freud believed to be a way of unconcious thoughts surfacing into conciousness.

So, in my own special way, I am promoting TIVA with this little ficcy.

Did you hate? Like? Please review and let me know!


End file.
